


The Best of Humanity

by OMG_Mangos



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Depression, Eleventh Doctor Era, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:26:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMG_Mangos/pseuds/OMG_Mangos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor discovers that his new companion has a problem with self-harm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of Humanity

**!TRIGGER-WARNING!**  
**This story contains major description of mental disorders, self-hatred and self-harm.**  
**If any of the above might harm you mentally, DO NOT READ IT.**  
**If any of the above might harm you physically, DO NOT READ IT.**  
**If any of the above might set you off, scare you, remind you of something you don't want to remember, or trigger you in any other possible way, DO NOT READ IT.**  
**Thank you for your attention.**

I've been with the Doctor for a while now. To say that he is the most extraordinary man I have ever met would be pointless, because he certainly is the most extraordinary man anyone has ever met. 

The thing is, he would also be the most extraordinary human, if he was human. Which he is not. 

The Doctor, the Time Lord from Gallifrey. The saviour of the universe, of all creatures and races and of me, this one messed up human, in particular. I have never told him this, but I don't think I would have lasted for much longer in that boring and simultaneously terrifying little world of mine. 

I tried, of course. I tried all my life. But I'm just different from all the others. All the others who can get up every morning without fighting an entire battle to just get one foot out of bed. All the others who then go to work or to school or wherever else to meet people who don't give them anxiety and feelings of inferiority. All the others who fall asleep everyday without panic attacks and crying and sobbing and screaming. 

It doesn't make any sense. Why am I like this? Why is everything ever always a little harder for me? 

The worst thing about it is that I'm not even the good kind of different. I'm not different like the Doctor is. I'm not different like Amy, or Rory, or Donna, or Martha, or Rose, the previous companions of the Doctor. 

I'm the struggling kind, the one that takes more than it's able to give, the one that loves with the entire soul but is never loved back quite as much in return. 

When the Doctor found me, I was alone and scared in the darkness of my life. That sounds pretty dramatic, I know. But the sadness and the fear and the hopelessness were constant at the time, and what would portray all of them better than darkness itself?

We ran into each other by accident. I don't really know what he did at this specific time at this specific place, he never told me. 

I was walking through the crowded streets in the very centre of town, on my way home, and I was crying. I didn't really notice and nobody else did, either. Except for the Doctor, who literally ran into me suddenly. That's who he is, after all. Always in a hurry, always on the run. 

Anyway, he must have noticed the tears in my eyes as he apologised, because he stopped dead in his tracks. Looked at me more closely, asked what was wrong. I couldn't tell him, because how do you explain something you don't understand yourself? 

He thought for a moment, then asked if I wanted to see something beautiful that would hopefully make me feel better. Me, that I had already grown fond of that man who apparently cared so much about a complete stranger, would have probably followed him anywhere.  
One may or may not consider this unwise, but I had so very little to lose and I felt so very lonely. 

So the Doctor showed me his magnificent TARDIS and all that can be done with it. He took me to the stars, so high above the earth that all problems seem small and unimportant. 

I was astonished, amazed and also a little scared.  
And I was happy. For the first time in a very long time I was truly happy.  
I asked the Doctor if I couldn't stay here forever, just watching the earth turn around itself. 

The Doctor gave me this weird look.  
"Well, you can't stay here exactly, but you could stay with me, if you want," he then said, "With me in the TARDIS. Travellers of time and space. Imagine it, no bills, no taxes, no responsibilities, just the entire universe and all of its miracles." 

You can imagine my answer.

So we set off to see time itself. The Doctor and me, we saved planets together. We met the literal Santa Clause. We watched the human race evolve. We became friends with more life forms than I can count. 

The universe is way more magnificent than I could ever have imagined. However, as the time passed, I realised that I liked the universe that grew on the very inside of the man I was travelling with even better. 

I learned to love the Doctor. Not in a romantic way, he was an over 900-year-old alien being, the very last of his kind, with a time and space machine, for God's sake. But not in a best friend kind of way, either, nor in a brotherly or fatherly way.  
I love him more than anyone and anything and in a way I can't put into words because I've never loved anybody quite like this. 

But I have never told him, because, let's be honest here. I'm not important to the Doctor. He took me along because he felt sympathy towards that pathetic little being that I am. And in all his kindness he showed me his world, showed me that there is more to life than just surviving. I will forever be grateful for this and I will forever owe him. 

But I'm not like his other companions. I am not special, nor important, nor brave. I have nothing to give. Much to the opposite, I'm clingy and needy and boring and he will eventually grow tired of me. Of course he will, and that's okay. I wouldn't choose me, either. I'm honoured I was allowed to make his acquaintance at all. Still, I really do wish this day won't come too soon. 

Moreover, he literally could have anyone. He's so old and so mighty and so beautiful. He has met the best of humanity and he still has plenty of time to meet more of it. I must look like a cockroach to him.  
Not that he makes me feel that way, at least not on purpose. But anybody can see that he deserves better. 

On our journeys we had to face some enemies of the Doctor, who now hate me, too, just because I'm travelling with him. But none of them hate me quite as much as I hate myself. Believe me, they've tried. 

The Doctor helped me so much that I can't describe it in words. Every day I feel like I'm getting a little better, like I can smile a little brighter. 

But it's hard to let go of old habits. It's hard to drown your demons when they've been with you all your life and when nobody else was. And it's especially hard to believe in yourself when you see whole galaxies burning out just below your feet, when you see entire civilisations turning into dust under your hands, when you see worlds rising and falling in front of your eyes and you just feel so small and unimportant that every single cell of your body aches and screams. 

I still relapse. I still cry. I still think about dying. The time between it has become better, of course. Between those relapses I can be happy again. And that's more than I could have ever asked for. 

But sometimes, my mind still explodes. 

Maybe that's just how it's supposed to be. Enemies hurt their enemies. The Doctor's enemies hurt him and he hurts them in return. I hurt myself because I'm my own worst enemy. That's just how it is. 

***

Today is not a good day. To be honest, today is a very bad day. The moment I open my eyes, I know that today will be one of a kind. As I sit up it feels like the weight of the entire universe is laying on my shoulders, forcing me down, down, down. And my mind, dear God, it's screaming. Screaming at me for being the waste of space that I am. Screaming at me for failing everyone and everything I love. Screaming at me for not being good enough for the Doctor and for anyone else. Screaming that my life is pointless and that it's not getting better. Screaming why I don't just die, die, die. 

My hands are shaking as I sit up. Shaking for the wrong reasons. I can barely hold back the tears. Crying when I shouldn't be. 

I know these things. And yet they hit me every time full force and it feels like I'm dying and I can't breathe and I'm tearing myself apart and I want to scream for help and - 

No. Control, control, control. I need to control it. The Doctor wouldn't want a companion that is at war with her own mind and falls apart twice a week. He would send me home. And I don't think I would survive that, now that I know about him and all the miracles out here. 

With him, I manage to stay alive. Without him... it would be my end. I can never tell him. 

When I arrive in the control room, the Doctor is already up (how would he not be) and tinkering at the console. He only flashes me a small smile and a "Morning" before he returns to whatever he's doing. 

"Hey." My voice cracks, but fortunately he doesn't notice. 

Seeing him hurts so badly I have to steady myself on the wall. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't keep him from travelling with worthy companions. But I can't let him go. I just can't. 

The worst thing about the Doctor's company is that he makes you want to impress him. Impress him because everybody loves him and you feel like you're competing with the rest of humanity. More than six billion people, plus those from the past and the future, who are better than you, braver than you, more talented than you. More than six billion people the Doctor might choose over you. 

It's the most terrifying thing ever.  
At least that's how I feel. 

Of course, the Doctor doesn't intend to make anybody feel like this. I don't think he even realises that he does. 

I pull my sleeves down over my hands and stare at the ground. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. 

The feeling of being out of place, the fear of failing and not being good enough, all my insecurities and all that self hatred crash over me like waves, causing me actual physical pain. Making me want to curl up into a ball right here and now and never open my eyes again. 

Why not tell him I'm hurting? The Doctor can always help. Maybe he can take all that pain away. Please, I just want it to stop. 

"Doctor, I-I..." Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't - fuck. My voice breaks and I bite my lip, frantically rubbing the tears that just won't stop coming from my cheeks. 

The Doctor doesn't even look up and maybe it's better like this. I can't tell him. What was I thinking? 

As I turn to leave and return to my room until the Doctor needs me, I hear him ask: "Huh? Did you say something?" 

Without turning around, I firmly shake my head as I don't trust my voice just yet. 

"Would it be alright for you to stay in today and watch telly? I've got some shopping to do," he continues.

He doesn't need to add _alone._ I understand. He's getting tired of me.  
I clench my fists and take a deep breath. Clear my throat. 

"Or course," I say and hope he doesn't notice the tremble in my voice, "It's fine. See you later." 

*** 

I have been clean for almost a month now. I thought I was over it, I thought I could beat the constant urge.  
And it was easy as long as the Doctor was with me, stumbling from one adventure right into the next. 

But now the Doctor isn't here and I'm alone with my thoughts. 

My mind is screaming, hammering against the insides of my skull. I'm hurting all over, writhing and wending like I'm charged up. 

I'm sitting in the bathroom, my shaking fingers fumbling something in my wash bag. Finally, I hold the small metal device in my hand.  
The razor blade looks like an old friend to me, red rimmed and blinking. 

I can't really remember when I started to cry. I close my eyes and put the blade to my wrist. 

I make the first small cut. Turn my mental pain into physical pain. Wait for the endorphin. Sigh as it comes and whimper as it fades. Repeat. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

It hurts.  
It hurts.  
It just really  
fucking hurts. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

Too many fucking thoughts. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

I feel so incredibly embarrassed for being alive at all. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

I'm losing my fucking mind. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

Help me. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

Please. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

The thing is, we're all addicted to something that takes the pain away. For me it used to be cutting. Then it was the Doctor, the beautiful, brilliant, magnificent Doctor. And now, well, now I'm trying to let go of him and I'm falling back into old habits doing so. Because he will choose someone else eventually, and then I shouldn't be unprepared. But it hurts. A lot. 

A whimper escapes my throat, followed by sobbing. 

_Cut. Endorphin. Sigh. Whimper._

I realise that I've been going deeper with every cut. I don't care.  
My arms, my legs, my hips. I just can't stop.  
The blood is everywhere. I don't care. 

I'm crying so hard by now that I can't breathe and everything is turning round and round and round. It's the kind of crying you lose yourself in, the kind of desperate, body-wrecking sobs that shatter your entire being. 

I lose every feeling for time as I'm lying on the cold bathroom floor, drying blood all over and around me.  
I try to hold onto something, anything, as my lungs threaten to burst under the pressure of all that fucking _pain._

Maybe this is it. Maybe that's what the end feels like. And right now, it would be mercy to just let me die.  
A single prayer echoes from my bones, begging to God to take me now. 

Too late I hear the footsteps outside the door, too late I hear the Doctor calling for me, too late I press my hand to my mouth in a pathetic try to silence myself.  
It would have been useless, anyway. The sounds I make are barely human anymore and can hardly be controlled. 

"Hey!" The Doctor knocks on the door. "Are you alright? Open up!" 

I can't answer him. Air, I need air. 

"I'm coming in now!" 

I hear the buzzing noise of the sonic screwdriver, then the click of the door. I don't care that the Doctor is going to find me here. I don't care that he's going to send me home.  
I don't care about anything anymore. I'm just so tired. 

As the Doctor sets foot into the bathroom, his eyes grow wide in shock and the screwdriver falls out of his hand. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care.  
I can see his knees getting all shaky and his lips starting to tremble. 

"No... _no._.." he mumbles as he stumbles closer and falls onto his knees next to me. 

"What have you done to your beautiful self?" 

His voice cracks and his eyes fill with tears that quickly escape and roll down his cheeks. It takes me a moment to understand this picture.  
The Doctor, the last Time Lord from Gallifrey, the saviour of the Universe, is crying for me. 

But he shouldn't be.  
He shouldn't cry for me. 

The Doctor cries for lost planets, for eradicated races, for burning solar systems. Not for some broken human being, one in six billion. And yet, here he is. 

"I-I'm... sorry," I manage to get out between two gasps. I realise that this is the first time the Doctor actually sees me cry. I usually avoid crying in front of people; it makes me feel weak and annoying. 

"No, no, _I'm_ sorry," he whispers and pulls me closer to him, holding me tightly in his arms. My blood is completely ruining his beloved clothes, but he ignores it. 

"It's okay, I've got you. It's going to be okay, I've got you..." he repeats like a mantra as he holds me close and rocks me back and forth. I can feel his tears mixing with my own. He gives me something to hold onto; I can hold onto him. 

Finally, my breathing normalises, but he still holds me. 

"You know," I eventually say and cringe at how different my voice sounds from all that crying, "I love you. Not in a romantic way, I suppose. Not in a platonic way, either. I don't really know in what way, but I love you more than anyone else in this universe." 

I'm not even afraid of his reaction. I'm just tired. Moreover - nothing haunts us like the things we don't say. 

He kisses my hair and gently rubs circles on my back. 

"I love you, too, you idiot," he says and I can hear the sorrow in his voice. Before I can apologise again, however, my eyes start closing without my permission and I'm overwhelmed by my exhaustion. 

*** 

I wake up in my bed. My cuts have been cleaned and bandaged and I'm wearing a new and incredibly comfortable pair of pyjamas. The Doctor sits next to me, dark circles under his eyes. I wonder how long I've slept. 

I smile at him. Even though it's a cracked and broken smile, it still expresses that I'm glad he found me.

He smiles back and takes my hand.  
"How are you feeling?" 

I know that it'd be ridiculous to tell the usual lie "I'm fine", so I decide to be honest with him. 

"Empty," I answer truthfully, "I feel empty. And still a little exhausted." 

He keeps silence for a while, his thumb circling over my hand.  
"Why?" he then asks, not looking at me. 

I sigh. Why. Of course. They always want to know why. And I can never explain. The most frustrating thing ever is not being able to tell your feelings to someone who truly cares about them because you don't understand them yourself. 

I tiredly shake my head.  
"I'm sorry, I can't explain." 

The Doctor hesitates a moment, then finally looks at me, raises his hands and asks: "Can I...?" 

I know what he means and nod, glad I don't have to put my feelings into words for him. 

So he puts his hands onto my temples and opens the door to my mind. And I show him. 

I show him all those terrible thoughts that I wish weren't mine. 

I show him how sometimes all my self-hatred can't be contained within my body so I have to cut it open. 

I show him how I'm convinced I don't deserve him.  
Because I'm just a star and he is  
the entire universe. 

I show him how one minute I'm doing okay  
And in the next I feel like the walls are closing in on me.  
I'm being caved in inside my own head  
And breathing feels like a hurricane in my lungs  
And my heartbeat sounds like a million drums all at once to me. 

I'm nowhere near done, but he suddenly pulls his hands back, an expression of terror and pain on his face. 

"Stop it, please, I can't take it... That's... that's terrible," he stutters before his eyes become glassy.  
"All that pain... I had no idea..." he mumbles more to himself and begins to cry again. 

This time it's me who pulls him into an embracement. It was never my intention to hurt him like this and I'm so incredibly sorry. 

"The day we met," he says, his voice muffled by my rib-crashing hug, "I came for you, you know. I heard your scream for help. Well, the TARDIS did. But I never imagined that you're in so much pain... Why didn't you ever tell me?"

I know he doesn't expect an answer; he's been in my head, after all. 

"I could never ever leave you and I never will, do you understand?" he continues with a tremble in his voice, "You're my friend, my little personal ray of sunshine and I trust you with my life. I will always care about you." 

He frees himself of my hugging, takes my hands into his and empathetically looks into my eyes. 

"You are such a strong little fighter, always getting back up when you've been kicked to the ground. You don't deserve this and yet you only blame yourself for everything. You're the very best of humanity.  
Moreover, you're my companion and I love you. Nobody could ever replace you. And it hurts me so much that you can't see how brilliant you are.  
I want to help you. Do you think we'll manage that, you and me?" 

I look into his eyes, those old and kind eyes that seem to hold the entire universe, and nod firmly. Recovery will be a long and hard way to go, but I'll do it, as long as the Doctor is with me. 

He smiles and points at my pyjamas.  
"I bought them today when I was out. They're made of a special material from Xtevlion, a planet not too far from earth. Keeps your body temperature always right, warm in winter, cool in summer. I noticed that you had been a little sad the last few days so I thought a present would cheer you up. Had I only known _how_ sad you were..." 

A guilty expression flashes over his face, but then his smile is back. 

"Do you like them?" 

"I love them, thank you so much!" I beam. 

"I also bought this," he sneers smugly and points at his throat. 

I raise my eyebrows. "New bow tie?" 

"Of course," he grins. 

"Bow ties _are_ cool," we say in unison.


End file.
